


Iberis

by yeaka



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Menalippe braids Venelia’s hair in the bath.





	Iberis

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning I know nothing about Wonder Woman beyond the 2017 movie.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Wonder Woman or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After a long day of hard training under the blaring sun, it’s good to finally be free of her duties, to wander deep into the caves to where the pools are bright and cool. Menalippe’s already unthreading her hair as she goes, ready at any moment to kick her boots away. When she finally reaches the central chamber, her dark hair is flowing freely down her shoulders, and she has the shoulder straps of her armour unclipped.

She means to strip the rest but instead comes to a halt. At this time of day, near night, long after most have already retired, she expected the pools to be empty. But instead, a familiar beauty basks in them. Venelia sits in the highest basin, buried to the top of her breasts in the iridescent glow. She has her fingers in her golden hair, a malformed braid half finished, but she stops to glance up when she notices Menalippe. Her eyes are large and soulful, her pink lips plump and enticing, but all of Venelia is alluring. In Menalippe’s opinion, she’s the most gorgeous creature on the entire island. Maybe further. Sometimes, it seems the gods themselves could never have her grace. Menalippe looks on Venelia, bear and glistening with little drops of water, and her breath stops in her throat. 

But she knows how to fight breathless, so she unfastens her armour anyway. Attempting to appear as casual as she can, she asks, “Is it one of those days, where your hair won’t listen?” Venelia often complains of them, though she looks stunning whatever befalls her silken locks. Menalippe sheds one layer after the next, until she can leave it in a puddle of leathers and metal, stepping forward in the nude. She wishes now that the pools were less opaque. She thinks nothing of her own modesty—that isn’t their way, though their books tell of another. She knows her training has kept her fit and healthy. She only wishes she could see Venelia’s form; Venelia wouldn’t hide it from her.

As Menalippe steps a toe into the first pool, Venelia sighs, “All my days are _those_ days.” Menalippe lets out a little laugh and climbs, one by one, towards the upper bath, where she can slip in across from Venelia. Beneath the water, her calf brushes Venelia’s leg, and she smoothes along it, settling into her own spot. Venelia doesn’t retract from her, only returns to the busy work of laying one bundle of hair over the others. 

“You have no right to complain of that,” Menalippe muses when she’s comfortable, which makes Venelia lift a brow, “given that you are lovelier than the sunrise.” Venelia looks up again, a smile touching her eyes first, then spreading slowly across her lips. It makes Menalippe’s heart flutter. 

“In spite of my hair,” Venelia suggests. Menalippe only grins in return, not daring to counter it again.

Instead, she asks, “May I braid it for you?” She means it as an offer, though it’s more a gift for her than Venelia. She’s delighted when Venelia nods and turns to the side. It gives Menalippe room to sidle forward and slip behind her. Her back is as pretty as her front, her creamy skin licked in the bubbling froth. She shimmers and gleams in the light, ethereal and _everything_ Menalippe’s ever wanted. Menalippe cherishes this.

She carefully takes the beginnings of the braid from Venelia’s slender fingers, only to meticulously unbind it. Then she combs the three parts anew, separating them more exactingly, evenly, and asks, “What style would you like?”

“A simple one will do,” Venelia sighs. “I want it to last on the field, and I fear it’ll fall out anyway. I don’t mean to put you to work for nothing.”

Menalippe would gladly go to work for Venelia. But she acquiesces, even though she’d prefer something more complicated, if only for the excuse to continue this longer. Braiding is a quick business for one with practice, and Menalippe has much. But she savours what she can, enjoying the gentle, lavender scent that seems to radiate from Venelia’s supple form, the pleasant heat of her, and even the gentle sway of her breath. Into the silence, Menalippe idly murmurs, “I braid Antiope’s hair often, you know.”

“I have seen you,” Venelia returns, “and I admit some jealousy. Would that I had my own attendant, and one as deft as you.”

Menalippe chuckles, wishing it were also so, though she’d never give up her attendance of Antiope. She would still attend to Venelia when she could. She promises, “I will style your hair any time you wish, provided I’m free then.”

Venelia looks over her shoulder, causing the braid to slip forward through Menalippe’s fingers, but the smile she receives is worth it. Venelia’s eyes are captivating.

Menalippe presses her palm against Venelia’s cheek and lightly guides it away again, more to hide her own blush than to aid her work. She continues the braid tight down the top of Venelia’s skull, attempting to catch every stray wisp that would defy her. She weaves right to the very ends, only leaving enough room to twist through and knot it in place. The second she’s finished, Venelia reaches back to ghost wet fingers down Menalippe’s creation. When she shifts around in the water again, her soft features are alight in warmth. 

She murmurs, “Thank you,” and moves forward to press a chaste kiss against Menalippe’s cheek. It’s gone too quickly for Menalippe to do any more, and she’s too surprised to give an answer. Perhaps if she weren’t so overwhelmed, she could dive in for a proper one.

But Venelia is already rising from the bath. Menalippe eyes her, taking in every luscious curve and line of her perfect body, watching her right to the edge of the bath. Venelia hides nothing, merely climbs out and strolls for her clothes, drifting little puddles in each delicate footstep. It isn’t until she’s tugged on her left boot, the last of her garments, that Menalippe breaks free of her shock. 

Venelia is already at the exit, but Menalippe leaps from the bath, swift to follow, because one more night is too long to wait after a hundred years of _longing_.


End file.
